We Are (Birds of Prey)
by AriMarvelUniverse
Summary: Shortish first person POV drabble of an AU where Robin has a twin sister named Wyllow (Wren) and they were raised by Slade, not Batman. So I guess it's kinda Teen Titan ish, too. Few bad words, that's all...keep your pants on. Robin/OC, but no bro-sis lovin'...at least not yet, haha.


He's the first thing I see when I open my eyes, and the last thing I see when I close them again at night. It's always been like that. We're damn near telepathic. When we were younger, we slept holding hands. If I stubbed my toe, he would cry. If his gun backlashed and knocked his shoulder loose, I would wince. If my knife slipped and I cut my leg, he would limp for weeks.

He's my twin, the male version of me. Literally three seconds older, or so I'm told. Same black hair, just messy and spiked instead of smooth and shiny. Same pale, fragile looking skin that could take a lot more damage than it let on. And the same lithe, slim limbs that hid fifteen years worth of trained, hardened muscle. And, though I rarely get to see them, my brother has the same eyes as me-a pale, grayish blue that was a color all its own, with an exotic, European shape.  
I've always said he was prettier than me. My face is thin and pointed, like his, but padded with baby fat that refuses to melt away. He is flawless in my eyes. We make each other proud when we watch each other exercise.

We are perfect. Beautiful. Graceful. Mirror images.

He's my brother, but he's more than that. He's my soul mate. The Yin to my Yang. The other half of my heart.

Richard and Wyllow Wilson. He hates the name Richard, I hate the name Wyllow. When we tease each other, in the rare moments when we are alone and unguarded, I call him Dick, and he calls me Minnow. In those moments, I see his eyes-our eyes-light up behind his domino mask.

We hate those names. But we hate our other names even more, the ones we were forced to take. The ones that no one ever says without spitting or shivering. The ones that cause entire squadrons of police to shudder and moan.

Robin and Wren. He's the Robin, I'm the Wren. Two birds, together since birth. Fast, flighty, and gone with barely a flutter.

And the most nationally recognized-and feared- villainous apprentices of all time. We are assasins, hackers, stealth artists, liars, acrobats, martial artists...a Jack and Jill of all malevolent trades.

Joker and Harley Quinn? Ha! Flash and K.F? Please. Bats and Bat-Chick? Come on. We're the real deal dynamic duo, not that pointy eared princess. I had her in a headlock in two point two seconds. But I digress.

Robin and Wren...Birds of Prey. We have robbed technology corporations blind, shot important dignitaries point blank in the skull, set fire to hospitals, wired millions from national banks...and kicked ton upon ton of Super Hero sidekick ass. We've given Kid Flash whiplash, shorted out Cyborg, and put Beast Boy down like a dog countless times. The Teeny Bopper Titans don't know what to do with us, and the J.L.A don't even want to dirty their noses with us. They know what would happen if they did.

We've become almost as infamous as our mentor...our Master. Slade Deathstrike Wilson.  
Dear old dad. At least, so we think. He's never really told us. Robin asked once, and got a broken nose for his trouble. We never asked again. But he's all we've ever known...him, and his buisness. His methods and practices. We were shooting cats by the time we were seven, and smiling all the time as they twitched and writhed. We learned to relish and enjoy doling out chaos. When we were younger, we had morals. Consciences. A sense of right and wrong.

Slade beat, worked, and trained that out of us. Now, we are a perfectly matched pair of blades, deadly and undeniable. Wherever we go, we bring death, anarchy, and pain. The smell of blood follows us like our reputation.

We are fifteen years old. At least...we think we are.

We are killers, cold and efficient. Just like daddy. But we don't love him. We don't even like him. At night, we devise the most painful ways to kill him. But we owe him everything, even our lives. He took us when no one else would, kept us together. He has made us strong and ruthless. We aren't delicate sparrows- we are eagles, fierce and carnivorous. All because of Slade. We are as loyal to him as loyal can be. We would die for him, if only to pay our debt.

My twin is the only living thing that I care about. The thought of losing Richard makes me sick. I love him so deeply, it's scary. He's more than my brother...much more. He's my partner in crime, the Mario to my Luigi. Without each other, we wouldn't have survived Slade's upbringing. Sometimes, I stare my gun in the face, and I squeeze the trigger to just before the point of no return. I think of ending it all. I goad myself into doing it. And just when I'm almost there, Robin's hand closes on my own. His face-my face- says don't leave me. And I don't. A few times, he's almost been too late. It goes the other way, too. I've stitched up a million of his stab wounds, cut with his own dagger.

We know we can't change. We know we can't be good...be heroes. We know we are stuck in this life of death, danger, and agony. I don't know why we keep each other alive, but we do, without fail.

But sometimes, when we wrap each other's bruises and dry our cuts, we whisper about what it would be like to hear the police cheering our names...to live in Titan Tower, to train with the J.L.A. and feel loved and adored. We touch each other's faces, and we we feel the confetti brushing our cheeks. We imagine laughter, and jokes, and that the worst thing our mentor does is shoot disappointing looks...not bullets. We fantasize. We haven't forgotten how to dream.

But we are the Robin and the Wren. And we are not stupid. We are Slade's, forever and ever. We are falcons, we are hawks.

We are Birds of Prey.


End file.
